


Hide From the Storm

by baskervilleain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, POV Sherlock Holmes, post-series 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-17
Updated: 2014-02-17
Packaged: 2018-01-12 21:08:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1200628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baskervilleain/pseuds/baskervilleain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John and a mistake that will either tear them apart or crash them together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hide From the Storm

Raindrops fleck my hair as we walk side by side down the darkening street. John’s elbow brushes my arm, and while he doesn’t seem to notice, I feel warmth permeate my chilled body. This case had been trying, to say the least. My legs seem slightly reluctant to carry me down the street, and I vaguely notice that my stomach is achingly hollow. 

I couldn’t possibly care less.

 

Adrenaline is still surging through me, and it’s clear that John feels the same. Neither of us feels better, more alive, than at times like these, when the city around us dances with light and voices and crimes.

Turning onto Baker Street, we wordlessly agree to slow our pace, reluctant to leave this vein of London, rain coursing around us like blood. Nevertheless, 221B looms in front of us, appearing far too quickly. I glance down at John, taking in his haven’t-slept-in-too-long posture, rain-sodden jacket, and bright, alert eyes. What had I ever done without him, my conductor of light? I can’t remember- a blur of cocaine and crime scenes lacking color or meaning. 

We are lingering in the rain too long- water is dripping into our eyes. I shift closer to John’s warmth; he meets my eyes for a moment. Feeling flares in my limbs. Endorphins, dopamine. Chemicals, I run them through my brain, categorizing their properties. But there is more here than happiness- an unfamiliar sensation that lingers in my chest. No information concerning this emotion tucked away in my mind- I will think about it later. For now, John is here, standing before me. With my mind running on this perfect high-  
better than any drug- I relinquish all control. Closing my eyes, I find my lips pressed against pressed against another, warm set. John.

 

Reality slams back into me.

Oh. Oh god.

 

I step back, the blissful, regretless sensation replaced with panic. Going by John’s face, similar thoughts are running through his mind. I see shock. Surprise. How could I do that. 

Teetering on the rooftop, again. Ground looming before me, will swallow me up, if I’m in any way lucky. I’m not.

Belatedly realizing that an uncomfortable heat is rising in my cheeks, drastically different from the previous warmth, I tear my eyes away from John’s similarly pink face and jerk   
towards the door of our flat. How long will I be able to say “our,” now? I’ve destroyed “our”.

 

I think that maybe the black door will allow me to sink into it, a black hole to rip me away from here, but it doesn’t and I am forced to enter the ridiculously calm flat. Trip to my room, sink to the floor, press my back to the wall. I wish desperately that for my violin in my hands, but remember it is still in its case in the sitting room. John is currently walking up the stairs, slowly. No way for me to retrieve the instrument without facing John. Will he leave now, or will a few horrible days go by before my feelings drive him out? My cold hands press into my eyes, run through my damp hair. Vivaldi crashing through my mind, haunting winter, drowns out the echoes of John that will be gone soon. I don’t want to hear them when they leave. 

 

All those awkward conversations, explanations, denials threaten to overwhelm the music playing in my skull. I’m not his date, He’s not my boyfriend, I’m not gay, We’re not a   
couple, We’re not, We’re not, We’re not. 

 

Regret dulls everything. Mycroft was right. I will have to tell him. He’s the only person I’ll have to talk to now. Caring. A chemical defect. Is this how love feels for everyone? All those terrifyingly, incomprehensibly normal people milling around thoughtlessly, do they all feel like this? Maybe ignorance would be better than the destruction I wreak. On myself. On John. The one person who didn’t hide from the storm, but ran into it. A lightning bolt in my dark sky.

With the vicious cacophony of violin and words beating with a rising tempo in my head, I don’t notice when my door creaks open.

 

I do notice when a warm body presses itself against my side.

John.

 

John?

 

Hesitantly, my eyes open and meet the blue ones so close to mine, almost black in my crepuscular room. His soft voice cuts through the noise in my head, a relief.

“Why the hell did you run in here?” Not angry. Just confused.

 

I blink. Isn’t it obvious? “I’m assuming you’ll need to be removed from the rent.” Can’t keep my voice from failing. Weakness.

John just looks even more confused, before realization and –horror? - flashes across his face.  
“Sherlock…” inexplicably, there is a tender, affectionate tone to his voice, and after hesitating a moment he takes a deep breath and brings his hand to rest against my cheek. “I’m not going anywhere.”

 

I barely have time to register his words before his lips are pressed against mine, warm and reassuring and tasting of John.

 

I freeze for a moment, completely disbelieving, but John is still kissing me and all I can do is kiss him back, my heart’s panicked 9/8 meter replaced with a powerful 4/4 that is matched by the rhythm beating in John. D minor transposed to F major.

 

We stop to breathe, dim light flickering with falling rain across our skin.

“I didn’t think you realized,” I whisper. “I didn’t think you wanted”-   
“I guess you see but don’t observe.” A grin touches John’s mouth. “I can’t believe you thought I would leave you , for any reason, after… all that.”

He means my two half deaths. The Fall- my betrayal, and the bullet wound- Mary’s betrayal. The latter unforgiveable.

 

“People might talk, you know.” I never understood why he cared in the first place.  
“People do little else, don’t they?”

My turn to grin. Mycroft was wrong. I’ll tell him later.

 

The sky outside darkens further, but we remain as awake and alive as the city’s heart around us, ensconced in each other, soft music pressing us together. Winter’s movement becomes Summer.

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to The Four Seasons by Vivaldi while writing this. If you haven't listened to it, I recommend Winter and Summer.


End file.
